


patterns and routines

by MamaMiyaMiya (Problemagician)



Series: Sakukomo Week 2020 Shorts [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Incest, Language, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Problemagician/pseuds/MamaMiyaMiya
Summary: [Day 6: "Just Say So"]Motoya opened his eyes at 5:29AM, one minute before his alarm went off and stared at the ceiling until it did. He opened his phone and clenched his perfect teeth when he saw the single unread message, praying for anything except disappointment.“You had a great season. Let’s celebrate. My treat.”Sometimes the only thing worse than disappointment was hope.
Relationships: Komori Motoya/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Sakukomo Week 2020 Shorts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	patterns and routines

Motoya had fallen in to a pattern. Kiyoomi called it a routine, but Motoya disagreed (not that he bothered to correct him). Routine meant things like taking his morning jog and moisturizing his hair and flashing his paid-for pearly whites in the mirror before heading out to meet his team for volleyball practice.

The day-in-day-out melancholy of achieving his lifelong dream. It set him up for a perfect life that even his parents finally came around to accept.

But that wasn’t his _pattern_.

Motoya’s pattern consisted of checking his phone before he’d even gotten out of bed, looking for a text message that usually wasn’t there, screen too bright and striped in early morning rays. Pattern was brushing his hair and wondering if he’d look more handsome with it cut. Pattern was smiling into the mirror and wondering when was the last time he kissed someone. Pattern was sitting on the bench, squirting a blue sports drink down his throat, staring longing at his teammate’s wrists, and wondering why they didn't take better care of them.

The day-in-day-out melancholy of achieving his lifelong dream and it not being good enough.

The day-in-day-out melancholy of longing.

Motoya opened his eyes at 5:29AM, one minute before his alarm went off and stared at the ceiling until it did. He opened his phone and clenched his perfect teeth when he saw the single unread message, praying for anything except disappointment.

“You had a great season. Let’s celebrate. My treat.”

Sometimes the only thing worse than disappointment was hope.

Kiyoomi was a pattern and a routine, something familiar and yet a giant enigma that clouded his otherwise solid judgement. And now the enigma made him feel under-dressed. White slacks that stopped at his perfect ankles, an unbuttoned black top with rolled-up sleeves for his perfect arms, downcast perfect ash eyes, and slicked back curls for his perfect forehead that made him look effortless.

Maybe Kiyoomi _was_ effortless.

Motoya popped a single button of his forest green top and stuffed his phone into his jean pocket before bothering to approach. He slipped into the plush booth of the fancy bar, smiling when Kiyoomi looked up to see him and set down his phone on the table.

“Motoya.”

“Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi’s lips curled up, and he chuckled lightly, nodding his head toward the menu on the table. “Buy anything you want. Everything is good here.”

“My Kiyoomi’s all grown-up, going out to bars now? For fun?”

“Hardly. My teammates like this place.”

Motoya didn’t know when his hand found his chin, but he knew the sappy grin on his face was melting into his palm. When he didn’t respond, Kiyoomi continued, “I guess it grew on me, too.”

With a happy hum, he let his eyes slip over the menu, peeking up to sneak a glance—as was his pattern—only to find Kiyoomi still staring at him.

“Ah? What?”

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. “Nothing. Take your time. All the time you need.”

So he did.

At 3AM, Motoya offered Kiyoomi the chance to crash at his place for the night. At 3:40AM, he let Kiyoomi’s head drop to his shoulder on the couch and clicked the remote to turn down the TV volume. He should get up and move to bed. He should make sure Kiyoomi was comfortable, as a fellow athlete, to not hurt himself.

He should…

He couldn’t think. He wasn’t sure. Nothing seemed as important as staying right where he was. And if a stray finger caressed Kiyoomi’s wrist, well, what did it matter?

Motoya tried to suppress his yawn and let his own eyes flutter close. Just a few more minutes, then he’d do what he was supposed to.

“… so.”

His eyes shot back open. Was Kiyoomi sleep talking? Motoya drew his hand away, only for it to follow him, Kiyoomi’s fingers lacing between his own.

He let out a shaky exhale and swallowed down pattern, down hope, down longing.

“Kiyoomi?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

Kiyoomi’s head drifted until his lips were brushing his neck. Motoya’s heart hammered. Icy shivers crawled down hot skin and nervousness that felt a lot like the anxiety from his nightmares shot up his spine.

“… Do you like me?” Kiyoomi breathed into his neck.

Motoya let out a shaky laugh. Oh, shit. _Shit_. Suddenly, he understood the concept of fight or flight. He’d planned for this. Planned to lie like his life depended on it. The way his heart was beating in his chest, it sure felt like it did.

Kiyoomi pulled away and Motoya wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to look into his eyes when he lied to his face.

“I-!”

Eyes dark like a void, all-consuming in the dim lights of his apartment, stole Motoya’s words. The beautiful bastard.

“I… uh…”

“If you like me… just say so.”

Maybe it really was that easy. Maybe it all _could_ be that easy, changing a pattern. Kiyoomi waited for an answer with eyes that reminded Motoya of his worst nights. The nights where he wondered if it’d hurt less to cut off all contact and start over. The nights where he hovered the block button because just seeing Kiyoomi’s name was enough to keep him awake when all he wanted was to be unconscious. The nights where he hated himself for loving.

Motoya ignored the fluttering in his chest and dared allow his hand to hold Kiyoomi’s tighter. He dared allow his other hand to cup Kiyoomi’s cheek and turned to him on the couch. Motoya took his time leaning in, pearly whites and all, and dared allow himself to hope again.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter link of this fic](https://twitter.com/problemagician/status/1330772495322976256?s=20)


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